Chapter 5 The Velvet Courtyard

The morning sun did not rise over Drakonys Academy; it merely bled through the perpetual shroud of gray mist, turning the sky the color of a bruised plum.

I had managed barely three hours of fitful sleep on my narrow iron cot. Every time I had closed my eyes, the phantom image of the mutilated Shadow Traucker had haunted my mind, its wet, agonizing wheeze echoing in my ears. I had risen in the freezing, pitch-black dark of the dawn, long before Jax, Thorin, or Quinn had even stirred. In the cramped, shadow-drenched corner of the washroom, I had meticulously rewrapped the linen bandages around my chest, pulling them until my ribs ached.

I reached up, running a hand through my hair. It still felt incredibly strange—light, jagged, and short. The dark brown locks I had brutally hacked off with my dagger in the stables no longer fell against my neck. I shook my head, letting the short, messy strands fall naturally across my forehead, just like my twin brother's used to. I didn't even need to fight with a heavy helmet to hide my identity anymore; I looked like a slender, sharp-jawed boy. I buried my secrets once more beneath the heavy wool tunic and blackened steel plates of Desi Sterling.

Now, I stood in the center of the Velvet Courtyard.

Despite its elegant name—derived from the rare, dark moss that grew between the ancient paving stones—there was nothing soft about the space. It was a massive, open-air amphitheater where the first-year cadets gathered for their morning tactical addresses and physical sorting. High above, on the sheer mountain cliffs, the claimed dragons of the upperclassmen sat like gargoyles, their scales catching the pale morning light, watching the lower recruits with detached, predatory boredom.

"Look at them," Jax muttered, stepping up beside me and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked remarkably put-together, though his uniform collar remained characteristically unbuttoned. "The Senior Flight teams. They get to sleep until dawn, while we’ve been up since the second bell just to stand in the mud."

I didn't answer. My icy blue eyes were fixed on the raised stone dais at the front of the courtyard.

Standing at the center of the platform, completely unbothered by the biting wind, was Prince Aleander. He wore a pristine, customized set of royal blue riding leathers, the gold dragon crest of the royal family polished so brightly it seemed to reflect what little light the sky offered. He carried himself with the absolute, unearned certainty of a man who believed the world had been created solely for his amusement. He was flanked by a dozen lesser nobles, all of them laughing at whatever arrogant remark had just left his lips.

"Our future King," Jax whispered, his tone dripping with subtle sarcasm. "Word is he already petitioned the Commandant to bypass the lower stable duties. Royal blood doesn't muck pens, apparently."

I felt a cold, familiar anger twist in my stomach. 'You have no idea, Aleander,' I thought, my gaze locking onto his handsome, careless face. 'You stand there playing the soldier, while back home, our fathers have already signed away my life to you. You don't even recognize the person whose freedom you're stealing.'

The idle chatter of the courtyard died instantly as a heavy shadow fell over the dais.

Aidan Gideon stepped forward, emerging from the arched doorway of the main keep. He wore his dark silver senior armor, his heavy fur cloak catching the wind like a dark wing. He didn't just command respect; he demanded it through his sheer, suffocating presence. His dark eyes scanned the ranks of the ninety first-year cadets, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on me—noticing how the wind whipped through my freshly chopped, messy dark hair—before moving on.

Beside him stood the chief instructors, their faces hardened by decades of border wars.

"First-years!" Aidan’s voice rang out, carrying across the stone courtyard without the aid of a channeling stone. "Today marks the true beginning of your crucible. You are nineteen. You are no longer children playing with wooden swords in your fathers' gardens. At Drakonys Academy, you are either a rider, or you are corpse-fodder for the empire's frontiers."

He stepped to the edge of the dais, his hands resting casually on the hilt of his heavy broadsword. "Your morning will begin with a three-mile rucksack run up the lower crags, followed immediately by hand-to-hand combat sorting in the mud pits. Those who fail to meet the time hack will spend their evening hauling dragon feed up to the upper plateau."

A collective, silent dread settled over the recruits. A three-mile run under full weight was a punishment designed to break us on day one.

"Senior Gideon!"

The voice was loud, clear, and dripping with royal privilege. Prince Aleander stepped forward from his line, his chin lifted high. "My vanguard escort handled a three-day flight through the mountain passes yesterday. My men and I are fully conditioned. Surely the royal line is exempt from the basic physical sorting?"

Aidan turned his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto the prince. The tension between the two young men was palpable—the son of the realm's most ruthless military commander facing off against the heir to the throne.

"In the sky, Prince Aleander, a rogue wild drake does not care about your royal bloodline," Aidan said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "It will tear your wings off just as easily as it would a peasant's. At DA, you have no title. You are a cadet. Get to the starting line."

Aleander’s jaw tightened, a flash of humiliation darkening his features. He forced a stiff, arrogant smile, but as he stepped back into line, his eyes flicked across the crowd—and landed squarely on me.

Seeing the subtle, unbothered expression in my icy blue eyes and my short, jagged hair, Aleander’s frustration found a new target. He leaned toward one of his sycophants, his voice carrying just enough for the surrounding cadets to hear. "Let’s see how long the little Sterling pup lasts under full weight. I hear he’s the softest of the litter. Look at his hair—looks like he couldn't even handle a proper military barber."

I didn't blink. I simply adjusted the straps of my heavy leather rucksack, my mind focusing on the brutal path ahead. I had to survive this run, I had to survive the mud pits, and I had to do it all without letting my breath fail me—because if my bandages tore, or if I collapsed, my secret would end right here in the mud of the Velvet Courtyard.